


Power in the Unspoken

by OverMyFreckledBody



Series: Soul the Color of Poppies [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Almost Kiss, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Full Moon, Late at Night, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Sexual Tension, spending time together for the sake of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-08-10
Packaged: 2019-06-25 08:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15636651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: It's the full moon and Derek wants to see what Stiles is up to. It ends up being a quiet night in. He can't say he doesn't enjoy it.





	Power in the Unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> this one was a lil late, i acknowledge that. but for a little while, i had started trying to come up with ideas for this, based on posts i saw, and then never wrote those. this idea came to me a few days ago when it was raining, and was much more organic. 
> 
> this is a series that needs to stay a little organic, i think. 
> 
>  
> 
> [music i was listening to when writing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xlEQnZdlaeE)

                Stiles has a book and a binder on his table. Derek has seen him use the book for spells, which is currently set aside, and the binder he’s peering into at the moment looks to be the newer of the two. Around him is a pile of printed out sheets with dark lettering, and many more pieces of loose-leaf paper. He’s sitting atop his table, legs crossed, again, and hasn’t yet noticed Derek’s presence.

 

                He knows how much the world can disappear around Stiles when he hyper-focuses, so he takes this opportunity to look around. He steps up close enough to see the writing on the papers strewn about and raises his eyebrows to himself at finding that they look to be bits of information from the bestiary, with half of the loose-leaf filled with what appears to be Stiles’ cleanest handwriting. It mirrors closer to what Derek has seen of his book, albeit obviously written with an older, steadier hand, than what could be found on random sticky notes or homework pages he has laying about.

 

                Stiles appears to be organizing a printed-out bestiary, with room to expand upon it. Derek is a little surprised to see he hasn’t done this online, in case something happens to the hard copy, but he assumes that these are going to be scanned in as well. Besides, his mother used to always tell him that the easiest way to learn something is to write it out in his own words, back when he would frustrate himself over his inability to study. Not that he needed it, after, but he does suppose it’s easier to recall something off the top of his own head than having to hunt it down in a book.

 

                What _doesn’t_ surprise Derek is the realization that Stiles is apparently trying to turn himself into a supercomputer of any knowledge or information he can sponge up. He definitely has the appetite for learning, Derek has found. Nosy little shit.

 

                He distracts himself from the stray thought that bordered on being a little too fond, and starts to step around Stiles to look into the container of herbs that Stiles uses for his spells. Derek remembers seeing them have labels and one smelled nice, one time, and he wants to find out what that plant was.

 

                Fuck it. He just wants to poke around Stiles’ shit. It isn’t like he wants to start a garden or anything. In fact, it’s less of touching the plant and more of a spreading his touch everywhere Stiles’ room, _knowing_ about everything in Stiles’ room.

 

                (He can admit this to himself, but… only because he doesn’t have to justify it to anyone else.)

 

                However, no matter how quiet he is, as he’s edging around the table, his shoulder brushes against Stiles’, startling him. Stiles inhales sharply and several papers he was holding go fluttering in a couple directions towards the floor. He jerks around to look at Derek who’s frozen in place, staring back at him.

 

                This puts them at a standstill as Stiles’ heartbeat, having kicked up a fit, starts to slow back to a semi-regular beat pattern. Eventually, however, Stiles’ whole body sags and he reaches up to scrub at his eyes with a groan. “Damn, you scared me,” he says, still rubbing at his eyes, and Derek almost wants to reach over and stop him, because doing so for so long can’t be good for him. “What are you up to tonight, Derek?”

 

                He doesn’t even sound all that surprised that Derek is just here, with even a head’s up. It’s like he’s… used to it. Like it’s normal for them.

 

                “The moon is powerful,” Derek says instead of commenting on his night. At this, Stiles slowly drops his hand, looking up at Derek. “What are you doing for it?”

 

                Stiles continues to stare at him for a few seconds, eyebrows coming together. “I’m not a wolf.”

 

                That’s not what he was – whatever. Instead of speaking aloud, Derek gestures in the vicinity of Stiles’ work table, mainly to his book and herbs that Derek was trying to get into. For Derek, the moon is normal, just as it’s always been. And perhaps, that’s the way it is for Stiles, too, now that he’s used to the rest of the pack doing their own private things on the full moon. But for Derek, because he knows of this part of Stiles, the moon feels new. He wonders what Stiles does with it’s power on these nights.

 

                Stiles seems to pick up on this without Derek having to say much of anything. His expression rests again and he shrugs before stretching, eyes squeezed shut so Derek doesn’t bother to hide the way he eyeballs the trail of hairs that peeks out above Stiles’ jeans when his shirt lifts with his arms. He pictures pushing Stiles flat against the desk and dragging his fingers over, through them, down into his jeans and further still.

 

                He licks his lips and looks back up at Stiles’ face when he starts to talk. “A lot of charging, mostly.” He yawns, but when he opens his eyes, there’s a light to them that Derek wouldn’t quite call tired. “Stones, crystals, making moon water, you know. Some cleansing. Just threw a bunch out on the back porch and gave them my intents.”

 

                Derek nods like that makes any sense to him – some of it does, but a lot of it was so casually thrown around and other things he looks to look further into – and Stiles rolls his shoulders, shifting his legs so he can swing himself off the desk. He points himself in Derek’s direction to hop off, pausing when he notices the small amount of space that would be between them, but. Derek doesn’t move away.

 

                Stiles meets his eyes and there’s a question he seems to ask nonverbally. _You’re not going to move, are you?_ But there’s nothing sarcastic, or even teasing about it. Just… him wanting to know if Derek’s really going to stand there when he could step away. He doesn’t want to, and something in his gut tells him that he’d be losing to something if he did, so he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t nod, doesn’t step away; he only continues to meet Stiles’ gaze until Stiles hops down anyway, right into his space.

 

                It’s not that much closer than when he was sitting on the table, but it feels like a lot. It feels like much more when he can almost feel the heat pouring off of Stiles in waves that unfurl into his own, the way his scent, surrounding him like a cloud, encompasses Derek’s own when he stumbles a little. His heart picks up again, not as loud as before, and it splutters once when Derek settles him with a hand on his hip.

 

                Stiles’ mouth falls open and Derek watches his pupils dilate, dark windows in his eyes even as Derek pulls his hand back to himself when Stiles balances again. He can see, barely, the way Stiles’ fingers twitch when his own drag, lingering, away from his shirt. The air feels thick, heavy, and it clogs in his throat, making it hard to swallow. His mouth feels dry up until he watches the way Stiles’ tongue slides over his bottom lip, pushing into the skin there. His own mouth floods with saliva and he can’t help mirroring the action.

 

                Snapping his head to the side, Stiles breaks the eye contact and he steps back into the open space in his room, away from Derek. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and shakes his head. “Dude. I need some coffee.”

 

                So, Derek follows him downstairs.

 

* * *

 

 

                Stiles takes his binder with him, but spreads it all out over his kitchen table like he did in his room. When he’d started making the coffee, he’d kept his back to Derek the whole time as Derek stood in the walkway, leaning against one of the pillars, and watched. “How many cups do you think you’ll drink?” He’d asked, and Derek was struck with a memory of the last time he’d tasted the flavor.

 

                That night when Stiles had needed to swallow his blood, when he had pressed his thumb completely into Stiles’ mouth, taking in the way his pink lips looked wrapped around the appendage, the way Stiles’ tongue curled so sweetly into his skin, the way he’d swallowed, sucking Derek in farther. Then, when he’d left, he’d licked his thumb himself, chasing the way Stiles had tasted on his skin, had tasted coffee too.

 

                “I don’t want any,” he’d answered, thankfully not missing a beat by taking too long to reply. Stiles had shrugged, still looking down at the coffee maker and then:

 

                “What about some tea?”

 

                So, Derek now sits at the table, mug of warm tea in his hands as he watches Stiles, sitting cross legged again, sift through papers. He doesn’t seem to mind having to do this in the kitchen rather than his room, or that Derek is even here. In fact, sometimes he’ll take a sip of his coffee and freeze, realizing that Derek has just topped it off. When he does that, he’ll glance over at Derek, not saying anything as he bites at the corner of his lip. Derek isn’t sure if he does want to say something, or if he’s more content to sit there in their peace.

 

                In the end, he never does say anything, and Derek finds that he’s just as happy to not say anything either; he much prefers watching Stiles work in silence. And it seems to work for the both of them.

**Author's Note:**

> ah, now to finally reply to those comments i was avoiding because i felt bad for a lack of update. horrah!


End file.
